


Malfoys & Muggles

by Ohdearwax



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: 18th Century, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Lonely fathers, M/M, Thranduil can't get enough, With dead wives, Wizarding World (Harry Potter), bard is adorable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-23 07:42:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17679263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohdearwax/pseuds/Ohdearwax
Summary: Its like the HobbitJust that Thranduil is a Malfoy, and Bard is a muggle from the neighboring village.When Bard's children break a Malfoy Manor window, Bard goes to the manor to apologize.Instead of the master, he encounters a talking portrait of Nicholas Armand Malfoy.orLegolas is busy at Hogwarts, so Thranduil is lonely. Until he meets a muggle who doesn’t wish to burn him alive.





	1. Malfoy Manor

The south part of Wiltshire was occupied by a small village called Laketown, named after the Lake that surrounded half of its land. Hence, everyone knew every man, woman and child that lived there. And everyone was on familiar terms with each other. But there was a mansion just a kilometer away from the village that was off limits, to every villager

The villagers knew it as 'The Malfoy Manor', but they knew not of what or who resided in such a large manor. Some said it was a wealthy witch who had lived there for a thousand years. While others speculated it was empty, but dared not trespass into the foreboding lands that surrounded it, thick with forest. But over the years as the thickets grew taller, the Manor seemed to disappear into its green surroundings, and was soon forgotten.

It was a chilly autumn morning, a warning of winter, when Bard’s three children took a break from the farm work and went out to play with their dog.

“Tilda! Pass it here!” said Bain.

“No! No Tilda over here!” yelled Sigrid, as their dog, Ramsey ran confusedly between them, trying to catch the ball in the air.

Tilda grinned playfully and ran into the tall grass with the ball, as the older two chased her. 

“I’ll give it to Ramsey!”, shouted Tilda, “Over here Ramsey!”, her puffy red cheeks stretched into a smile as she threw the ball high to where Ramsey was.

As many of their play-days, this one did not end without mishap. The ball had reached Ramsey, only for Ramsey to ram into the ball with his snout and send it flying off into another direction, of a tall window. As the glass shattered, all three children froze in anticipation of an scary old man coming to scold them. When none came, Bain bravely went to see where the ball had landed.

Struggling through the trees and roots, Bain came face to face with the side of a great pale Manor, and a very broken window. Sigrid who had caught up with him had stated that the honorable thing to do, would be to go and apologize immediately, and so the trio walked up to the three meter high doors, and swung the handle. All three chose to ignore the skull that was attached to the silver door handles. When no sign of life appeared before them, the children decided to head home, and tell their da. That was the second most honorable thing to do.

And so they did.

Bard the bowman could not help but be cross with his three rascals that gave him more work, but did not bother scolding them. Mistakes like this did not happen often and they looked guilty enough. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he said, “I’ll deal with it. But next time do not play that far from the house, understand?” When all three children nodded sheepishly, he continued with lunch. Ever since his wife, Eve had died, he had become the cook of the house. Sigrid and Tilda helped with the housework, while Bain mainly worked at the farm. Thanks to his lovely children, he could handle the work, and was not saddened by the loneliness that plagued him at first, not anymore. 

With a final sigh, he concluded to meet with the master of the manor as soon as possible, and left right after lunch to apologize.

 

Bard knew someone lived there. As a playful boy he once was, he had seen a young boy older than him with long pale blond hair, so pale it was white in sunlight, staring out a window with a bored expression. But that was a long time ago. Wearing a humble demeanor, Bard approached the front gates, surprised to find them open wide. Was the master expecting someone?

Shrugging, Bard headed for the front doors, and hesitated at the skulls that lined the silver door handles. As he drew closer, he began to hear a piano playing. If the pianist was the only one in the manor, he would not be able to hear Bard knocking. However, just for good measure, Bard knocked thrice and waited for any response. When there was none, he pushed the door lightly, only to find that it opened easily. Did the master not fear burglars? Or was he really expecting someone. Bard felt slightly uncomfortable at the thought of intruding.  _ But it must be done  _ he thought, and entered the house. As he closed the door softly behind him, he jumped at the sudden voice of a man.

“Trespassing is a crime young muggle!” Bard did not move. He just stared at the oil painting of a severe man with a white wig facing the door. Did he imagine it?

“What do you have to say for yourself!” 

No he did not. The portrait without a doubt moved, and spoke. Bard was so shocked, he almost said  _ sorry _ , but decided to not entertain his delusions, and find the master of the house, apologize, and leave as fast as he could. Turning away from the spluttering painting, Bard followed the piano music, all the way to pale yellow room with its doors wide open, as if intentionally letting the sound travel through the manor.

As he tread near the room, expecting to find a master pianist and bow in apology of his children, he stopped moving abruptly, then with even more caution, approached the piano. The piano only. There was no master pianist, not even a human being. Just a piano. Bard looked around, expecting to find another piano played by a laughing man enjoying his joke, but there was no one else. Just the piano with an invisible man pushing the keys. Bard’s mind was empty, he could not think, or begin to process this and he reached out expecting to touch something invisible. At least an invisible man was something he could comprehend. But just as he was about to feel the air tentatively, he heard a soft cough behind him. Bard swung around so fast he felt slightly dizzy. A tall lean man in a black waistcoat stood before him. His straight long white hair reached right below his waist. He gave Bard an unimpressed look, before saying,

“Do you need something?”


	2. Pianos and paintings

Bard had never felt so uncomfortable in his life, stood between a confusing piano and a very beautiful man.

“N-no I mean yes I do, are you the master of this house?”

The blond’s stoic expression suddenly morphed into one of slight amusement and he stuck out his hand in introduction. His voice deep and commanding, that almost sent a shiver down Bard’s spine.

“I am Thranduil Septimus Malfoy, current master of the Malfoy manor.”

Bard clumsily shook Thranduil’s pale hand. “Bard, erm - the bowman, from Laketown.”.

Thranduil’s grip was surprisingly strong, and Bard in his surprise shook Thranduil’s hand for a little too long, before realizing and hastily retracting his worker hands. In embarrassment, he flushed a deep red, all the way to his ears. He rubbed his hands behind his back, conscious of his calloused palms, in contrast to Thranduil’s smooth ones.

“I apologize for intruding, I just heard the-,’Bard turned towards the piano (which was still mysteriously producing music on its own) “-piano, and thought it would be better to uh- just come in and speak to you.” Bard nervously blabbed, aware that his excuse did not sound like a good one.

Thranduil did not move or respond, his amusement grew into a smirk. It had given Bard, who was patiently waiting for a response, the impression that he was being mocked. 

“Look, i'm very sorry about the window. My children were just playing, they did not mean any harm,”Bard bluntly stated, reaching into his tattered brown coat to fish out a few notes, “here as  recompense.”

For a moment, Thranduil looked at the money in Bard’s hand as if it had offended him, before a look of understanding came over his face. Briskly, he turned and walked to the door, before swerving around to stare at Bard.

“Come.”

Bard did not like people ordering him around, but since he was desperate to do something other than stand around and have an awkward exchange of stammered words, he did as he was told.

Following behind the tall blond, Bard could not help but notice how fast he walked, or perhaps it was how wide his strides were. He was at least a head taller than Bard.

Thranduil led him to a corridor of windows, passing all others until he stopped in front of the one in the middle. 

“The window is repaired.”

He stated smoothly as if he was commenting on the weather. Bard looked at him, before looking at the window, and then back at him. Saying he was puzzled would have been an understatement. The window had been shattered just an hour or two before, and replacing it would have taken a day, especially for high quality windows such as his. Thranduil sensing his confusion, stated bluntly,

 

“My house elf repaired it.”

Bard stared at Thranduil. Thranduil stared back. Lips twitching in amusement at some joke Bard was not getting. Was this what the bourgeoisie joked about nowadays? Pianos that played themselves and Elves?

 

“Some tea?”

Thranduil gestured vaguely at some room down the hall.

Bard had not recovered from the events of the past minute and could only nod.

What followed was not a small trip down the hall but a long walk to what Bard imagined was the other side of the manor to a small blue room elegantly furnished with enough silver sculptures to feed a village for months. 

 

“Which would you prefer, Earl Grey or Darjeeling, from the east.” 

Thranduil settled gracefully into his navy armchair, looking casually like royalty.

Seeing how Thranduil was making no move to make any tea, Bard assumed servants would be rushing in any moment.

“Early grey please.” Bard shrugged off his coat and turned around to hang it on a cloak hanger that resembled the head of some mutated creature.

_ That's new _

 

“So, uh, you good at mechanics then.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

Thranduil sounded surprised.

“Well,”, Bard glanced back to see if he had offended him, “I mean the talking painti-”

The fine china teapot was floating in mid air, pouring tea into Thranduil’s cup without assistance like it had been made to do it.

Was this a practical joke?

Bard took it in himself to walk around the teapot and wave his hand over it, expecting to find thin white strings performing the act. When his hand encountered nothing but air, Bard realized how ridiculous he was behaving and expected to find Thranduil frowning at him. 

 

On the contrary, Thranduil had a hand elegantly covering his mouth in an attempt to hold in his mirth, but slowly failing to do so and a low chuckle escaped his lips that made Bard’s heart pound strangely.

 

“Do you like my mechanics Bard the Bowman?”

 

Bard, who still had no idea what was happening, and whether this was all a dream, knew he was being laughed at.

 

“How-” Bard started, but stopped himself. He did not want be ridiculed any longer. Holding his tongue, he sat down stiffly into another navy armchair, and watch curiously as the ceramic teapot floated over to pour tea in his cup.

 

They both sat in a comfortable silence, and sipped their tea. Just that Bard was not comfortable. 

Thranduil was staring at him. 

It was as if he was waiting for Bard to do something.

Bard put his tea down and stood up abruptly. He looked into Thranduil’s grey eyes and swore it to be the last time.

“I-it is getting late I should go,” Bard stammered, hurriedly walking to the door, “Goodbye Mr Malfoy and thank you for the tea.”

 

Thranduil frowned and opened his mouth to say something but Bard had already shut the door and was jogging to the entrance.

When he was finally outside of the maze called Malfoy manor, he sighed.

_ Well, that went well. _


End file.
